And so one summer afternoon he started forth in search
Of a Sergeant who perambulates close by St. Martin's Church.

The Sergeant burst out laughing when he'd uttered his request,
And declared that, of a batch of jokes he knew, this was the best;
"'Tis a pity you're too short, my lad," he then went on to say,
"For wid _that_ face ye'd froighten ivery inimy away!"

In a fountain which played handy--it was near Trafalgar Square--
He was rushing off to drown himself, the victim of despair,
When he knocked against a person he'd not seen for quite an age,
Who had left his home some years before, and gone upon the Stage.

To this friend he soon narrated his distressing tale of woe,
And declared his case was hopeless. But the actor said, "Not so.
There's _one_ thing, my fine fellow, that as yet you haven't tried,
Where your face will be your fortune, and a pound or two beside.

"With a mouth like yours to grin with, and your too delicious
squint,
And the ears that Nature's given you with such a lack of stint,--
No matter what an author may provide you with to speak,
You're a ready-made Comedian--with your fifty quid a week."

And it was so. Though he started at a figure rather less
Than the one that I have mentioned, still the truth I but express
When I say he now is earning such a wage as wouldn't shock
A respectable Archbishop or a fashionable jock.

And the face that all men sneered at, now is very much admired,